Monday, August 3, 2020

Monday we were up early so we could get ready in a leisurely manner for all my appointments at the Mayo Clinic. Lloyd likes a hot cup of black coffee in the morning, and his favorites are Caribou Daybreak, and Gevalia House Blend. It was Gevalia for him, and I like Stok Cold Brew coffee every morning. It’s so smooth and doesn’t taste burnt and bitter. I drink it cold with organic half and half.

After we got dressed we drove the ten minutes to the Mayo Campus, which is quite impressive. So many tall buildings with peoples’ names on them — the Gonda Building, the Mayo Building, the Charlton and the Eisenberg Buildings, and more.  And the main ones  all connect underground. There are two hospitals here and numerous clinics and schools, and the best and the brightest minds come to practice medicine here. World leaders and U.S. presidents have been treated at Mayo for decades, my dear Michael had a shoulder replacement surgery here, Lloyd had a cardiac ablation here, because if you can get the care you need at Mayo, you do it. So I think my son-in-law Chris feels pretty good about the team that’s going to open him up and put a younger man’s kidney in him Wednesday afternoon. And I feel the same — if I have to have my body cut open and a vital organ removed, it might as well be here.

Mayo is a well-oiled machine, but in their efficiency and brilliance they haven’t lost their hearts — the staff are so kind and respectful and helpful. You feel like you are really being served here.

Everyone is screened at the door, temperature taken, questions about COVID symptoms and exposure asked, then given a sticker to wear to show you’ve been allowed in. No mask, no entry, also. We’re talking lots and lots of people at Mayo, huge lobbies in huge buildings, floor after floor of specialized departments.

Chris and I both had to have the dreaded COVID-19 test first thing on Monday. I was escorted into a small room where I sat and tilted my head back, and the fully gowned, masked, visored nurse told me the test would be uncomfortable, might “tickle the back of my throat,” and would only last five seconds. I didn’t have to sit on my hands like some do. The super long filament swab she inserted into my nostril, up into my sinuses and all the way to the back of my throat was thin, flexible and it curved easily as she swished it around to gather any potential microbes. I have given birth to three children without a drop of pain medication so I know I can tolerate some discomfort. It was bearable, but I did hear a groan rising in my throat as she seemingly swabbed my cerebellum while she was at it. I was so happy when it was over.

Next was a blood draw by a phlebotomist who filled eight tubes with my maroon colored blood. I left a urine sample, and then had an appointment with Dr. Mikel Prieto, the surgeon who will be removing Justine (my left kidney), placing her in a specialized cooling wrap to drop her temperature for transport, putting her on ice, and sending her on her way to Madison, Wisconsin. He explained that he has done over 1000 donor nephrectomies, and that in fifty-five years Mayo has never lost a donor.

When I told him I was still a little surprised that out of all the people who came forward to be screened as a kidney donor for Chris, I, an overweight 62 year-old woman rose to the top of the list over younger and more chipper and fit people. He said the screening process is so rigorous at Mayo, no one is allowed to give a kidney unless they have really good ones. That made me feel kind of nice, since there isn’t much on my body that would fall under the “really good” category. I don’t have “really good” knees, or “really good” eyes, or ears or hair or what have you. I guess I could say my teeth are fairly decent. But the rest of me wouldn’t make an objective bystander look my way and suddenly say to themselves, “If I ever experience severe kidney failure, I want that woman’s kidney.”

One by one, my test results at Mayo appeared in my online Patient Portal — almost before I could walk out of the buildings and get to the car. If you’ve ever had to wait a few days to get a test result, hoping your doctor’s office would call, try the Mayo Clinic. You’ll know your creatinine levels and HDL and LDLs and enzymes count within just a few minutes.  I had so many blood tests and urine tests I’ve never even heard of before.

After Monday’s tests were completed for me, Lloyd and I grocery shopped at a place I’d heard of but never been — HyVee. It was a very nice store, and we bought salad fixings, chicken breasts, oats and pecans so I can make Muesli, Rainier cherries, which are better than Bing in my opinion, and our favorite ice cream, Haagen-Dazs Peanut Butter and Chocolate. Lloyd had never eaten that ice cream before meeting me, and now he’s hooked. We buy a little pint once a month or so, sit together on the couch, and he eats the ice cream and gives me bites of the peanut butter chunks (my favorite part) when he digs them out. We drove home, put our groceries away, and enjoyed some down time working on a stupid, idiotic, ugly, ridiculous jigsaw puzzle for a while.

On Monday evening, Lloyd and I met Chris, Sharon and their children at Soldiers Field Memorial Park in Rochester, for some delicious Thai takeout food. We sat at picnic tables in perfect summer evening weather and had things like Pad Thai and Chicken Green Curry with Vegetables and Potstickers and Shrimp Fried Thai Rice. It was so nice to share laughter and to know that in a few days, Chris would have a new, healthy kidney. He has been on the brink of complete kidney failure for so long, we have prayed and friends have prayed for so long, it felt so wonderful to think about the wait and the wondering was over.

Lloyd and I waved goodbye to everyone, no hugs exchanged which makes me sad, and returned to our Airbnb. We watched some Netflix British Crack, then went to bed tired, knowing that my next day of appointments began early. We would have to be at Mayo by 7:20 a.m.

Chris’s and my COVID test results showed up on our Patient Portals in the afternoon — both of us are negative, thanks be to God. We can proceed, and when each door opens, we step through.

More soon,

I thought I would try to keep a journal of my journey toward donor nephrectomy (kidney donation) for a few reasons. First, maybe someone else might be getting ready to donate a kidney someday, and would possibly Google it and find a friendly place here where they could learn what they might expect. Second, I want to document for myself the ways God worked in my life and in the lives of those I love, because there may come a time when details fade and I’ll want to look back and feel in awe again. Thirdly, this is a way I can keep interested friends and family informed about what happens each day, rather than sending long and interruptive texts to a goodly number of people. Thank you for reading…

Sunday, August 2, 2020

Lloyd and I woke up early and were both so glad to see the hot, humid air that had blanketed our area for weeks had blown out. The central air has been on non-stop for longer than I ever remember. Lloyd opened the bedroom window to test the morning air, and the cooler, drier air rolled in. I ran around the house opening windows everywhere, and the fresh air was delicious. So delicious, in fact, we decided to take our time getting packed up for our trip to The Mayo Clinic, and go for a long bike ride instead.

Lloyd had ridden my new Rad Power e-bike enough times to like it a lot. He ordered his own, and we have had such a fun time going on Old People Bike Rides along the Lakewalk, down by the Aerial Bridge, and sometimes toward Brighton Beach right on Lake Superior.

We got dressed and headed out before breakfast. As we rode along the lakeshore, the waves whipped up by the wind sounded exactly like the ocean. The birds were singing in the overhanging trees and I kept calling out to Lloyd who was riding ahead of me, “Isn’t this beautiful? Doesn’t this air feel heavenly?” I don’t think he heard me, but I know he was thinking the same things.

It sprinkled the tiniest bit just as we rounded the climbing curve near home (which means, miraculously, that we don’t have any trouble pedaling up a steep hill anymore because we have e-bikes now!), and after we stored our bikes we thought Muesli for breakfast sounded good. Have you ever had Muesli? I make it at least once a week and it’s so good. Plain, tart yogurt, dry rolled oats, shredded coconut, a little honey, raw pecans, cinnamon… Lloyd likes his heated, with raisins and a drizzle of maple syrup. I like mine cold.

Lloyd and I take turns asking the blessing before our meals. I’m a wordy Protestant, he’s a concise Catholic, so we’ve both learned to appreciate and enter in to the other’s way of praying. If it’s my turn to pray, I usually just begin to tell the Lord what I’m thankful for that day — so much! A good night’s sleep, another day of breath, a break in the weather, beloved children and grandchildren, mercy and forgiveness, and His provision of the good food in front of us. Then we always say the beautiful prayer Lloyd grew up with:

Bless us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts
which we are about to receive
from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen.

And after I memorized that prayer I thought, yes! These oats, these pecans, they are gifts. From His bounty. Through Jesus, our Savior. Think of that. Prayers I used to think were rather rote have become rich and meaningful to me these past couple of years.

It was Lloyd’s turn to pray, and he also had some things to thank God for, but I was particularly touched when he said, “Thank you for another day, Lord, and thank you for our marriage.” At this late stage of our lives (Lloyd is in his seventies and I am in my sixties, both of us are widowed after many years of marriage), it means something to me that my husband considers our relationship a gift to thank God for.

We filled the back of my Subaru Outback with our suitcases, overnight bag for the hospital, laundry basket full of things like books, laptop, Bose mini speaker, hair dryer, sanitizing wipes and house slippers, and a cooler full of favorite things and enough to get us by until we could grocery shop in Rochester.

Our four hour drive south was blessedly uneventful. We listened to quiet classical music on MPR and stopped at a Kwik Trip in Hinckley to go potty and stretch our legs. We also stopped at Union Cemetery in St. Paul to place flowers in the vase on the columbarium niche where Lloyd’s wife’s ashes are. Neither of us can believe it’s been almost six years since RoseMarie and Michael died.

We were happy to find that our place in a residential Rochester neighborhood is clean and spacious and has everything we’ll need for the next several days.

We are staying in a modern split level home we rented through Airbnb, and it’s cheaper than most hotel rooms, yet we get a kitchen, laundry facilities, a deck to have our coffee on, a connected garage, and two bathrooms. And a comfy bed. And puzzles.

After we punched in the code on the door, carried all our stuff in and unpacked, we enjoyed a couple of episodes from the latest British detective series on Netflix. We ordered burgers and sweet potato fries from a place our Airbnb owner recommended, and had a quiet dinner together.

We went to bed fairly early since I was scheduled for several medical appointments at Mayo Monday morning.

So why is this post called Verna and Justine? Because I decided to name my kidneys ever since I’ve learned so much about them, how much they’ve done for me for over sixty years, how well they’ve served me. They are highly specialized in what they do (they remove wastes and extra fluid, help control blood pressure, make red blood cells, help keep bones healthy because they make a form of Vitamin D, filter 200 quarts of blood per day to make one to two quarts of urine, and more). I’m going to call my right kidney Verna (she’s staying) and my left kidney Justine (she’s leaving on Wednesday). There’s a reason for each name, and whoever can figure out why I picked each one, wins a big prize.

It was so lovely to sleep with windows open, a chill breeze billowing the curtains out in the bedroom. I woke in the middle of the night feeling cold, but I pulled the covers close up over my neck and chin, and refused to get up to close the window. It was a welcome discomfort after all the tropical heat we’ve had in Minnesota this summer.

A kidney donation could be something that brings some understandable anxiousness, but so far I’ve felt peace. The thought of my son-in-law receiving a new kidney from a caring, younger, healthy, tall man in Colorado this week is what I honestly care about most. We don’t know anything else about him, but I ask the Lord to bless that man in the Rockies, and to bless my son-in-law Chris as he prepares for all that’s ahead. I ask our heavenly Father to bless my daughter Sharon as well, and their four children, because the whole family goes through a transplant, really. I ask God to bring them joy and health and hope and love and faith and patience and laughter and I could go on and on and on as most of you already know….

Justine’s farewell journey has begun. Verna’s hardest job ever is just around the corner.

More tomorrow,

My city in northeastern Minnesota used to be known as The Air-Conditioned City because of the powerful cooling effect frigid Lake Superior has on the land and air around it. When I moved here from SoCal in 1981, the average summer temperature was 74º, but that can’t possibly be true anymore. The last few summers have been hot and humid, and this summer seems to take the cake for me. Being a humidiphobe means I look at what the dewpoint and temperature is supposed to be each day and into the coming week, and if the numbers are high, the dread creeps in. I become a hermit and don’t like to leave my house, which has air conditioning, which makes me functional. I’m very grateful for central air.

I have some friends who own ebikes, one for each member of their family, and they invited me to try one out. I did, and then spent about six weeks considering whether or not I should make a substantial purchase like that. I finally bought one online, and have been riding it in the mornings and evenings on the Lakewalk. It looks almost like a regular bicycle, but has a chargeable electric battery that provides “pedal assist” to help old people or unfit people or plump people or people with knee replacements (in other words, me) ride wherever they want without limitations. Duluth is a hilly city, and I would normally not try to ride up our steep streets heading away from the Lake, but now when I reach an incline that’s beyond my ability to pedal on my own, I turn the silent little throttle on my right handlebar and it gives me a smooth boost that gets me where I want to go. I can go over 50 miles on one charge, although I have yet to ride that far.

Here’s what my bike looks like:

See the battery under the seat? It’s a powerful thing. If you’d like to know more about the company, it’s highly rated, has great customer service and their bikes aren’t the most expensive on the market…click here.

Sometimes I ride east on the Lakewalk, and a few miles from my house Lloyd spotted a bald eagles’ nest in a tall tree skirting some woods. I wish the picture I took was better than this, but I’ll share it anyway, because it’s awesome to see even if it’s blurry. I circled the triangular nest. If you look to the left of the nest on a bare tree, you can see one of the bald eagle parents perched. Lloyd and I have gotten as close as possible and taken binoculars, and the branches the birds used are almost as big around as my wrist.

We’ve seen the baby eagles sitting on the side of the nest, flapping their wings as they prepare to fledge. It takes my breath away.

One morning when Lloyd and I walked as close as we could get to the nest, I took this picture with my iPhone:

He watched us as we passed beneath, turning his head and following us with his piercing gaze. Eagles can see fish in the water from hundreds of feet in the air, so I’m sure he caught an eyeful of us. Maybe he could see the red blotches on my skin and the whiskers in Lloyd’s beard. Sharon has seen these eagles on her morning walks, and when it’s early enough, one of the parents flies out over the Lake, probably looking for a hefty salmon to bring back for his family’s breakfast.

If you’ve been a blog friend for long you know that each summer I host a Bible study in my home. We’ve done studies by Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer, Margaret Feinberg, Mary Kassian, Lisa Harper, Corrie ten Boom. This year we are studying The Sermon on the Mount by Jen Wilkin and it’s beautiful and challenging. I crave the words of Jesus during this time when loud voices and violence have added to the division in our country. A group of us has been meeting for 15-16 years now, and this year we could not gather in the same way we always have. I’m so glad each woman said yes when I suggested meeting by Zoom. Every Tuesday morning we gather in a Zoom meeting room online, and thirteen of us get to see each others’ faces as we discuss what we’ve studied during the week. Then, instead of watching a video in my living room, I email the week’s video to everyone and we watch it at home.

Here’s a photo of my beloved Bible study friends on my computer:

I am so blessed this year to be able to do this study with the childhood friend I’ve known the longest — Tauni. Tauni and I grew up in West Covina, California, just over the fence from each other. She still lives in SoCal (San Diego), but because of Zoom, she could take part. She has fit right in, and has been such a blessing to our group. From left to right, top row: Fiona, me, Sue D., Connie. Second row: Sue R., Tauni, Laurel, Dawn. Third row: Lana, Kay, Sharla, Kristi, and Deb is there underneath. I learn so much from these lovely women.

About two weeks ago my dishwasher stopped working. After talking with a repairman, I decided to buy a new one since mine is old enough that I didn’t want to plunk a few hundred dollars into it. I decided on my first Bosch (with a third rack – yay!) but apparently they are back ordered so we’ve been doing dishes by hand, which is what I did for years and don’t mind at all. Except that I tend to do it only when the sink gets full, so I’m slouchy about it. A few days later my washing machine stopped working, just like that. After talking with the repairman I decided not to replace the computer components of it, since it too is older and has been used almost daily for eight years. So I bought a new washing machine, my first LG. Lloyd and I humped it up many stairs into the house and he set it up for me. That was a relief. Then, my iMac desktop decided one afternoon to give me the Black Screen of Death, after having been fine for seven years. The AppleCare tech on the phone led me through a series of things to try, but the hard drive seemed to have disappeared — not a good sign when one has reams of important foster care paperwork stored on that hard drive. The nearest Apple store is three hours away, so I drove to Minnetonka to have it repaired, and the hard drive was shot. What?!?! I did have an external hard drive that had successfully backed up on June 26th, so when I got home WITH MY NEW COMPUTER I was able to migrate all my documents over. Except, my old Microsoft version wasn’t compatible with my new computer, so I had to go online and buy the latest Microsoft suite so I can read and access all my Word docs. Yes. And then my printer decided to not work anymore at all, and I had to order a new one. Mine was a good workhorse and I got my money’s worth out of it, but still. And then my iPhone began to die just a few days ago. It’s old, so it’s not a terrible surprise, but the timing of all of this was a little daunting. Almost laughable. I realize these are all first-world problems and I’m not complaining, just sharing.  🙂

Lloyd and I finished watching the series Endeavour and are now into Shetland. It makes me want to drop everything and head to the Shetland Islands, or at least to the north of the Scottish mainland. I’ll bet it’s not 92º and steamy as a sauna in Scotland. I’ll bet my dishwasher, washing machine, computer, printer and phone wouldn’t have broken if I were in Scotland.

I hope you’re doing whatever it takes to keep yourself and your family healthy these days. And I pray that Jesus will be your joy and comfort and help.

C.S. Lewis on Joy…

In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you—the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence: the secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow awkward and affect to laugh at ourselves: the secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name.

Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth’s expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.

Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be re-united with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation.

And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honour beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache…

The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy.

 ~ C. S. Lewis

*         *         *         *         *

A few mornings ago I was driving home from seeing the baby geese and ducks at the cemetery. It was perfect weather — a deep blue sky with a few billowy clouds, a low dewpoint, and the temperature was about 52 degrees. There was enough of a breeze to need a sweater. I noticed that some of Northern Minnesota’s wildflowers are blooming. As I saw the purple and pink lupine, yellow buttercups and orange hawkweed on the sides of the roads, a memory wafted into my mind and I was instantly transported and filled with a longing ache for Michael that brought tears to my eyes.

Our wedding anniversary was June 28th, and for as many years as I can remember, we tried to go away for a weekend together to celebrate. When my mom was still alive, she would have Sharon, Carolyn and Sara stay at her house so Michael and I could have our time alone, and the girls always loved being with Grandma Sooter. She catered to them like nobody else, and it was a joy to know they would have such a good time while Michael and I headed north.

We usually drove up the North Shore of Lake Superior on Friday afternoon, and stayed in a cabin either in Grand Marais or Lutsen, and a couple of times on the Gunflint Trail close to the Canadian border. We returned on Sunday afternoon, anxious to see the girls but happy to have celebrated another year of God’s faithfulness to us.

June is when the spikey lupine begins to bloom on roadsides and in sweeping meadows almost everywhere you look. The delicate buttercups and invasive but pretty hawkweed flowers always mingle with the lupine, so a drive up the already spectacular shore of Lake Superior is made more breathtaking by the acres of color, waving in the wind.

Seeing the June wildflowers blooming this week brought our anniversary trips back to me, and stirred something in me that is more than just missing Michael. Yes, the flowers helped me remember that he and I loved going down the Alpine Slide in Lutsen, racing each other and laughing, to see who could reach the bottom of the mountain first. How he and I sat in front of the huge fire in the lodge and read together, shoulders touching. How we hiked to the top of Carlton Peak, ate top sirloin steak at The Birch Terrace Supper Club in Grand Marais, canoed on Flour Lake while he fished and I read a book on Ireland, sat by the largest freshwater lake in the world and talked about the kids, the Lord, our future.

I loved him so much. And after five years, I still miss him. After remarrying eight months ago and feeling so grateful for Lloyd, my heart still catches when I think of Michael. Maybe it’s because we had so many years together. I can’t explain it, but I am not going to apologize for it either. For those who grieve a spouse and love someone new at the same time, I understand.

The lupines and the other wildflowers arrayed in their fine clothing called out to me as I drove this week, and even though I couldn’t hear their flower voices with my limited human ears, I caught the faint strain of their message deep inside me.

C.S. Lewis wrote of experiencing “the echo of a tune we have not heard, the scent of a flower we have not found, and receiving news from a country we have never yet visited.” The swaths of textured, living color were more than just reminders of times Michael and I had together. They seemed to bring me news of a country I have never yet visited, a land to which Michael has gone, a place (and a Person) I pine for every day.

I had some trouble with my sleep last night. Some nights I go to bed at 10:00 and don’t wake until 5:30 or 6:00 and when I do I always think, “Thank you Lord! Wow.” Other nights I fall asleep and wake at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., and can’t get back to sleep. I’ve tried Melatonin spray, which is helpful, but I don’t want to do that all the time.

I woke at 3:16 a.m. and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up and watched an hour long program that always records on my DVR. It was about Paul McCusker and his journey from Baptist to Jesus People freak, to non-denominational, to Episcopalian, to Catholic. Paul is a prolific writer who is responsible for most of Focus on the Family’s Adventures in Odyssey and their Radio Theatre, programs my family loved for years. I ate a handful of Planter’s peanuts while I watched, and had some water. Then I went back to bed and fell asleep around 4:30 a.m.

I vividly dreamed that I was walking down the middle of a slightly hilly, but very straight residential street in a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. It was dusk, and everything had a silvery glow to it. The houses were mostly nice ramblers, set back off the street a bit, and each smallish yard had mature, beautiful, leafed-out trees in it. It was a very shady neighborhood. There were some lights on in the houses (of an odd, pinkish cast), but I didn’t see one person in any window or on the street, no traffic. Just me, walking in the middle.

As I walked, I noticed without alarm that water began to rise around me, and it didn’t spread to the houses. It was only the street that slowly became water-covered. The water was silvery from the early evening light. I don’t remember seeing stars or the moon, but there was enough light for me to look down into the water as it rose around me and lifted me off my feet, and see it was very clear, and I saw my body treading water. My legs and feet paddled slowly beneath me. I didn’t feel afraid, but I knew something was going on, and I kept treading water almost effortlessly.

In minutes the water that covered the street was roiling but not cresting. There were big surging swells that lifted me up and lowered me down, and the current was slow, and carried me down the grade of the street. I turned and looked at one side of the street, watching houses as I drifted past them. I never swam (I’m a good swimmer) but just remained upright with my head out of this rising river, treading water and being slowly carried downstream. I noticed the pinkish light coming from the windows of a house or two, and the silver light on the leaves of the trees. The water was deep and powerful. I raised my arm out of the water toward the houses and tried to speak something to them. It seemed important that I say something as I was being carried past.

As sometimes happens in dreams, I had difficulty speaking. I tried very hard to get some words out, but who would have heard anyway? I was the only person I could see. Finally, with great effort I was able to say with real intention to each house, “Jesus!” I would raise my arm to each house as a pastor or priest does when he’s giving a blessing to his congregation at the end of a service, only my arm was stretched out exaggeratedly, and I called once loudly to each home, “Jesus!”

I had no idea what was happening, where everyone was, what neighborhood I found myself in, why only the street had become a rising river, and why I was being taken in this flood of water, but I wasn’t afraid. Perplexed, maybe, but I didn’t feel fear. And I knew I had to reach out to each house and pronounce the very best I could offer, which was Jesus.

I wonder what this dream means, aside from the obvious. Does anyone have a thought?

Hello friends. I have been sheltering at home now since March 19th, when Lloyd and I returned from our trip to California. I go the grocery store when necessary and always wear gloves. I wear a mask if the place I’m going seems to have enough people to make keeping a distance difficult. Once a week my sweet foster resident and I go for a drive, order takeout food, maybe drive through Dairy Queen for a cone, or Culver’s for her favorite, a dish of chocolate frozen custard.

I have been knitting a dark red scarf, very imperfectly, knit 2, purl 2, knit 2, purl 2, and the yarn is very forgiving. I also signed up for the German class through The Great Courses, and as soon as I get my workbook in the mail I’ll begin the thirty online classes. I know a bit of German, having lived there in the late 1970s for almost two years. I baked a boule loaf of bread in a lidded Dutch oven last week, a recipe my oldest daughter tried, and it was delicious. I think I’ll make it again, maybe when I decide to put on a big pot of soup. It was 29 degrees this morning, and today’s highs are in the 40s. In mid-May. So soup still seems like a good choice. And I bought the first jigsaw puzzle of my life not long ago, and Lloyd and I completed the 1000-piece The Last Supper and I actually didn’t hate it.

Lloyd and I have still been watching the series called Endeavour and so far like it a lot. We’re on the third season and there are seven, so we try to watch one in the evenings whenever we’re together. It’s on Prime Video for those of you who are Amazon Prime members.

I had a very long to-do list today and it feels good to have crossed almost every task off my list. I’m sitting in my dining room looking out on sapphire colored Lake Superior, watching chickadees swoop in to choose black seeds from the suction cup feeder on the window, and have just brewed myself a cup of tea. Aaaaand…I’m munching on a couple of See’s candies, lovingly wrapped and dropped off on my front deck by my friend Su. She and I grew up in SoCal (as I’ve mentioned on this blog about 467 times) and See’s was a part of our growing up years. Now you can buy See’s online, but back then we stepped into the white-tiled See’s store at the Eastland Shopping Center in West Covina, and oohed and aahed (silently of course) over the plentiful selection while the older women in white frilly aprons waited with smiles for our decisions. (Always a Bourdeaux for me.) Have you ever had See’s Candies? What were your favorites? My mother loved the rectangular, chocolate-covered molasses strips that were always grouped in fours and placed in the lower right hand corner of the box.

Anyway, I’m going to show you some pictures today of things I have in my house that are red. Some of these pictures have appeared on the blog before, but some are new. The older I get, the more I love dark, jewel-toned colors. I’m always intensely drawn to dark blues, reds (not fire-engine red!) and greens. I like purple if it’s a warmer purple, with brownish tones, like eggplant I suppose.

The bricks on this fireplace in my dining room were lime green when I bought the house almost exactly eight years ago. Michael was still here then. We moved to this house because he was getting sicker, and we needed to downsize and to have fewer stairs. I love my home, but I still have a stab of pain when I think that this was the place Michael knew would be his last dwelling on this earth.

My daughter Carolyn painted the bricks a deep red for me, and she helped me decide on the flowing arrangement of blue, red and black transferware plates I hung above the mantel.

I’ve had a thing for toile for years. I’ve had toile wallpaper in the last three homes I’ve lived in, and I think a bit of toile adds interest in a room, unless you’re decorating with an urban, industrial look, and then you can probably omit the toile. I put this little dark red and cream footstool in front of a Glen plaid chair in my bedroom.

And I love red in nature. Aren’t these leaves gorgeous? This was taken last fall in the cemetery where Michael is buried.

I swear by flannel sheets in the winter and fall, and the silkiest sheets in the spring and summer. These are one of two sets of flannel sheets I use. Buffalo plaid has certainly become a trend, which I usually try to avoid, but these sheets make me sigh when I sleep in them, so I will keep them until they’re threadbare.

I no longer wear red much, since my (porcine) coloring isn’t really compatible (although in COVID-19 times, come on, who cares, right?) This picture of me was taken by my dear friend Bob King, sometime around 1985-6. I was 28 or 29 years old.

My current bedroom has too much wallspace for wallpaper, so I opted for red and cream toile in my small office. And velvet turquoise/aqua curtains. I never know what color these are. Light teal? Dark robin’s egg blue?

This adorable little red and gold bird print was a gift from my daughter Sara. I hung it under a plate and a resin moose head. His name is Mendelssohn.

Anyone who’s acquainted with me knows how important cardinals are in my life. If you don’t know the story, you can click here to read the version I wrote for children.

The beautiful watercolor work by Cheng-Khee Chee was a gift from my dear friend Su. It’s on a shelf in my bedroom and I cherish it. And those two little ones on either side? They’re both seniors in high school right now. How interesting that they’re both wearing red.

There was a time I craved dark red so much, I painted my kitchen walls with it. And I used creamy white and lots of dark blue as accents. This is the kitchen from our former house.

These sheets were a Christmas gift from my daughter Sharon, and when my buffalo plaid sheets are in the wash, these cardinal softies go on.

Aren’t these little salt and pepper shakers sweet? Another thoughtful gift from a dear friend.

These are the warmest slippers I’ve had, and I wear them most of the day. They’re wool, made in Austria, and somehow that makes them more special to me, since I love The Sound of Music. That’s how my logic works sometimes, unfortunately. 1. Need new slippers. 2. Search online for new slippers with arch supports and a bit of red. 3. Find wool slippers with arch supports and a bit of red, made in Austria. 4. Think, “Oh, these were made where Julie Andrews (and Maria Von Trapp for that matter) twirled and sang on the hills of the Alps near Salzburg so when I wear them I will be closer to that beauty that touches my heart and makes me yearn so deeply. 5. Put wool slippers in online cart. 6. Type in credit card information. 7. Click “complete purchase.”

When Sharon took some family pictures of us in the last months of Michael’s life, we liked this one a lot. We had it enlarged and it hangs in my bedroom. When I took it to be framed, I chose a textured gray and a dark red mat to go around the black and white photo. The black frame also has some dark red in it — can you see? Mildred the Schnauzer photobombed, of course.

I’ve had this textured pillow for a long time and it has gone from room to room. For now, its home is on another plaid chair in my bedroom. I prop my Bible and devotional reading on this pillow in the morning, set them on my lap, and spend some time with Jesus.

Below is the most lovely quilt ever, from a friend of the heart I’ve yet to meet. Helen in Switzerland sent me this after Michael died, and it is prominently displayed in my living room, reminding me of her generous love and exquisite creativity.

This handpainted red birdhouse was given to me by some of my grandchildren. It’s called The Birdhouse of Prayer, and came with a red pen and some scraps of paper. Over the years when I’ve been overwhelmed regarding my loved ones’ challenges, I’ve written their names and needs on a piece of paper and just dropped it in through the openings, sending it off to the Lord to handle.

And I still love these bird prints, matted in dark red, or burgundy. These hang in the living room above a plaid chair I don’t love. I had it made years ago and when it was delivered I had an “uh-oh” moment when I realized it was not what I had envisioned it would be. It’s comfortable and I like sitting in it, but the plaid isn’t my favorite. Even though I love plaid. I’ll keep it until I need to downsize again, and be grateful for a nice place to sit.

This painted rock was a gift from a friend at Community Bible Study. An older woman named Hope gave it to a little girl named Adah, and Adah decided to give it to me when she was done with it.  That’s a baby bird with its mouth open at the top.

This red is a bit too bright and orangey, except that it’s part of a tartan plaid, and that makes it totally okay in my book. Most things Scottish are welcome and appreciated in this house. I have another one with some blue in it, and I drape it on the arm of my couch, a present from my dear friend Sue. R.

Red, red, red, and blue. One of our Thanksgiving tables, with a plaid throw, placemats, red chargers and other accents.

Is that enough red for now? I agree.

How are you doing during this time at home? Have you taken up anything new? Read any good books? I’d like to know! Thank you for stopping in.

God’s peace,

How is everyone doing? I stopped counting the days a long time ago. I remind myself that with a warm home, a job I do from home, stable health, and an impossible jigsaw puzzle to do, I have much to be thankful for.

Then I remind myself that I cannot see my grandchildren even though they are within practically arm’s reach, and that they are growing up and changing without me being able to see them up close. Then I remind myself that they are going to forget that they love and need me, until they don’t love and need me anymore. And it won’t matter to them that I love and need them. Then I remind myself that I can’t have lunch with friends, can’t have dinner with my daughters, can’t drive to Tennessee to spend time with my sister-in-law now that my brother has died, can’t go to the library and peruse the shelves. Then I remind myself that so many I know have lost jobs, and so many I don’t know have lost loved ones. Then I remind myself that I can’t go to church and gather and kneel and pray with my church family. Then I remind myself that I can’t happily plan a menu and invite friends over for a nice meal around my table, enjoying conversation and laughter and the preciousness of their presence.

You can see how upbeat and productive I am. My inner life is truly remarkable. Sabotage… that’s what I’m doing to my brain, I guess.

Being an introvert, the first few weeks seemed almost like normal life to me. But now all these facts I’m reminding myself of have taken their toll, and I feel pretty down. Just the time to take to my blog and post something, right?

So I thought I’d share some pictures from the recent trip Lloyd and I took to my home state of California. We were there for almost two weeks, right as everything began to shut down.

I grew up in SoCal, but never made it to Sequoia National Park. We decided to visit there for two days and it was a definite highlight. We both agreed we should have planned for a much longer stay. It was spectacular being in the Sierra Nevadas and seeing these trees that were here when Jesus walked the earth.

This is Lloyd and me standing in front of the largest tree on the planet. The picture doesn’t even come close to showing how magnificent and massive they are. As we drove higher and higher (almost 9000 feet elevation), we gasped and gaped each time we rounded a curve and saw one of these giants in amongst the other trees.

We pulled over to take the picture below — I think you can click to enlarge. The gray squiggles in the middle of the photo are the switchback road we drove to get to the higher elevations.

Toward the end of our trip we drove Pacific Coast Highway north to San Simeon, where Hearst Castle is. My parents and I visited there many times, and it felt strange and sad and exhilarating to see it again, sitting way up on the hill. Lloyd and I had hoped to see an elephant seal or two if we squinted our eyes, at the Piedras Blancas elephant seal rookery just north of San Simeon. Imagine our awe when we got out of the car and saw hundreds and hundreds of them sleeping on the beach. We were so struck by the seals we had to read up on them when we returned to our hotel. The males can be 5000 pounds, and I can see three in the picture below. The time we spent here was also a highlight of our trip.

When I was growing up in Covina, California, my parents and I would vacation in Morro Bay two-three times a year. Morro Bay is a sleepy little town on the Central Coast, and some of my happiest memories are from visiting there. Morro Rock is supposedly a volcanic plug, whatever that means. I just looked it up — it means this rock is a “remnant neck” of a volcano that was here millions of years ago.

Whenever my mom and dad and I would drive the five hours north to Morro Bay, I watched anxiously to see the rock and the three PG & E smokestacks as we would approach the town. Those monuments meant a fun stay in a hotel, foggy weather we loved, a walk on the Embarcadero, salt water taffy for my mom, a walk on the beach to gather sand dollars, drives up the coast to see Hearst Castle, eating at The Breakers, my parents eating clam chowder and me having a burger, dreaming with them that we might someday live there. They never made that leap because of my dad’s good job in Covina, but I remember the Morro Bay visits as happy times before my parents divorced and our family disintegrated.

I was thrilled to be able to show Lloyd Morro Bay and walk on the beach with him. We gathered sand dollars and marveled at long-beaked, solitary curlews that walked around in the sand close by.

We also visited my mom’s grave in Covina. She is buried next to her parents, Edward Bennett and Oma Leora McInteer.

While in the Morro Bay area we went to Los Osos, where my dad is buried.

We were blessed to spend two days and nights with my beloved childhood friend Denel. She and her husband Jerry have retired and bought a condo on the ocean in Solana Beach, just north of San Diego. Lloyd and I slept in their guest room and had the sliding glass window open a bit at night, listening to the crashing waves nearby.

This is Lloyd in Solana Beach — just look at what Denel and Jerry get to see every single day. We walked the beach with them and I rolled up my jeans and put my feet in the Pacific for the first time in decades. I used to swim in that ocean as often as I could. In fact, I used to swim as far out as my ten-year old strength would allow, until I couldn’t reach the bottom when I dove down, or see the faces of people on the beach when I turned to look back.

How could we go to Southern California and not visit Disneyland? I went to Disneyland at least once a year and sometimes twice in my younger years. I know it like the back of my hand, and wanted to experience it again, and see the new rides. It was a rainy day and we took umbrellas, but even the rain and visiting on a weekday didn’t prevent the lines of some of the most popular rides from having 90 minute waits. So we chose not to wait that long, although had I been by myself I would have done it. Denel and I went to Disneyland as children together, and she drove up to Anaheim from Solana Beach to go with us. The day after we were at the Magic Kingdom, the park closed.

Denel and Jerry also took us to The Flower Fields in Carlsbad Ranch, and that was such a treat. Never have I seen so many ranunculus flowers, nor varieties of poinsettias. It was mind-boggling and lovely. These are my favorite poinsettias:

We also visited my dear friend Diane and her love Danny. They have retired to Palm Desert and we stayed two days and nights with them in their beautiful home in a gated community called Sun City. I met Diane when I was 19 years old and we were both attending a Lamaze childbirth class in Yuba City, California, near Beale AFB where our husbands were stationed. We have been devoted friends for over 40 years.

Diane and Danny (below) took us to the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, and we boarded a rotating tram car in the desert and in ten minutes were almost 9000 feet up, where there was snow and pines and views of the Coachella Valley I could have enjoyed for the whole day.

Everyone in the desert gets very creative with their landscaping since having green grassy lawns to water isn’t recommended. I think Diane and Danny’s back yard is unique and beautiful!

One of the best parts of the trip for me, was being able to spend time with my father’s widow Dorothy. Dorothy is one of the finest people I’ve ever known. It would take an entire blog post to tell of how she cared lovingly for my mother when she was ill, how she loved and served my father, how she blessed our family so richly. She lives in Atascadero with her son Jim and his wife Kim and their amazing family. We were welcomed there for lunch and when we left, Lloyd and I got in the car to drive away and I sobbed. I love her so much and know this was probably the last time I’ll see her on this earth. Dorothy used to paint, and the portrait is of her late father.

I have so many more pictures, but just thought I’d share a few from each area we visited. As we neared the end of our trip, we called ahead one morning to see if we could get an early check-in at the last hotel we were to stay in, in San Diego. They had closed indefinitely and never even emailed or called to let us know our reservation was voided. We took that as our sign to leave a day early, as everything in California was closing down and we wanted to get home to Minnesota. We had heard of “ghost flights” with hardly any passengers, but we were able to reschedule and get the last two seats on a packed Delta flight. We arrived in Minneapolis late, so stayed in a hotel overnight, grocery shopped the next morning, then drove north. I dropped Lloyd off at his cabin and continued on to my house by Lake Superior. We quarantined for almost two weeks before we were together again. We have been married for six months now, but we still have two homes. We spend three or four days together, then three or four days apart. It works well for us.

Today, I am taking my foster gal on a nice ride in the country, and we will stop at a burger place with carhop service. She is anxious to order their onion rings, a hot dog, and one of their famous fresh berry milk shakes. I think I might have a burger myself. 🙂

How are you holding up? Have you been doing anything creative? Watching anything good on TV? Lloyd and I have really liked a British series on Netflix that my friend Pat recommended called “Endeavour.”

God bless you all…

I’ve been meaning to share some pictures from our after-wedding trip ever since October. But a few things have happened. And then a few more. And then the Huge Thing happened, and here we are, in our houses, praying for the sick and the bereaved, wondering if life will ever get back to the way it was. I know the answer to that, but for now, let’s just look at some beauty.

This was the tiny cabin Lloyd and I stayed in at Bearskin Lodge on the Gunflint Trail. We were there four nights and five days, and didn’t want to leave. It was cold at night, sunny during the day, and there were gorgeous colorful leaves everywhere, and we had a lake at our back door and the woods all around. No phone service, no television. It was heaven.

The Gunflint Trail starts in Grand Marais, MN, which is about 100 miles north of where I live. It winds north and west through Minnesota’s forests, and if you look at the map you can see how close to Canada it comes. The Gunflint is the yellow road below. And you can also get an idea why Minnesota is called the land of 10,000 lakes. Although that is a lie. We have so many more than 10,000.

This is the sign that greeted us on the Gunflint Trail for our lodge. We then drove down a dirt road a couple of miles before getting to the main office, where we picked up our key and headed for Cabin 2.

We just had to stop and have some lunch before we got to our Gunflint turnoff, though. This was the salted caramel gingerbread cake a la mode we split. It had some cayenne pepper in it too, so yummy.

The inside of our cabin was rustic but so warm and comfy. Lloyd’s daughter Angela had called ahead and a warm Forest Berry Pie was waiting for us when we unlocked our cabin.

The kitchen was just a little corner at the front of the cabin, and I warmed a pot of soup for dinner. I made the soup at home and we took it with us.

We hiked, we drove around in our pajamas looking for moose (they abound on the Gunflint Trail!), we read out loud to each other. We had to hike on the Honeymoon Bluff Hiking trail since we had just gotten married and we were on our After-Wedding Trip.

Lloyd’s truck, Lloyd tying his hiking boots.

Such a gorgeous autumn day for a senior citizen selfie.

The morning we drove down some abandoned logging roads looking for moose, we happened upon this lake at sunrise. If you enlarge it you might be able to see the ducks.

We hiked to an overlook near Hungry Jack Lake, and this weathered fence post caught my eye. Look at how the rings formed in the winters (dark) are harder and stood up to the winds better than the lighter colored, softer wood made in the summers. There is a life lesson there.

The lodge at Bearskin has a cow moose and her calf made out of wound up twigs and branches, and they’re lit up with hundreds of tiny lights at night.

We took a kite in case we wanted to fly it. We took it out on the boat with us in Bearskin Lake and flew it until the string snapped. We were able to turn back and rescue the kite from the lake. What a lovely thing to sit with my feet up and read, while the fall sun comes in the back window of our little cabin.

This is the soup I brought — a copy of Olive Garden’s Zuppa Toscana — so mouthwatering. I always add extra of everything, especially kale.

I don’t know what kind of mushrooms these are, but they were super hard. It took a lot to pull one off.

If you have trypophobia, do not enlarge this picture below. And please send lotion.

We boated for hours, but it was windy enough to make us want to come in and build a fire to get warm. Lloyd in a posture and expression I see a lot…

Trees fascinate me and I took lots of pictures of the waviness of the layers of bark on the pines.

From the top of Honeymoon Bluff Trail:

I’m trying to be intentional about how I spend my time these days. Lloyd and I just returned from a two week trip to California and were right in the thick of things. He is home in his log cabin fifty miles south of me, making sure he feels well. I’m here in my home, within view of Lake Superior, “sheltering in place” and doing foster paperwork. I want to knit, write, read, bake, walk, do old-person yoga, draw. So far I’ve only done one of those things. With overripe bananas.

How are you spending your time at home lately? Are you healthy? I pray you are.

May God keep you and help you,

Do you think people develop more firmly established night time routines when they get older? I know I have.

Hopefully everyone brushes their teeth and gets into some comfortable pajamas or a nightgown before they go to bed. Those habits are expected and enforced from the time we’re tiny humans, right?

How about when you’re middle aged or even in the few last years of your life….what kinds of night time routines do you practice that you look forward to, or don’t look forward to?

It takes me a while to get ready for bed, because I like to take my time and I actually look forward to sleep each night. In the winter I go to bed so early one of my daughters pokes fun at me about it. She’ll call at 5:30 p.m. on her way home from work and say, “Are you in your nightgown yet?” In the warmer months I stay up later, but my routines rarely vary.

If my daughter Sara doesn’t let Mildred the Schnauzer out before me, I put Millie’s special collars on (no-bark and no-leave-the-yard) and let her out. I get morning meds ready for my foster resident the night before, and I may or may not load the dishwasher and get it started. When Millie is ready to come in for the night, I remove her collars and put them on the pillow on the oak pew in the dining room, and she goes downstairs to sleep in Sara’s room. I lock all the doors, turn off all lights and the computer, and head down the dark hallway to my bedroom.

I turn on one nightstand lamp, turn off the mist-free humidifier I have on in the winter, and I use the remote to turn on my wonderful electric fireplace near my bed. I turn down the house furnace and set the fireplace temperature to 66 degrees, the timer to two hours, and I enjoy the heat and the realistic flame so much, often falling asleep before it shuts off.

I always plug in my iPhone and scroll to my playlists on Amazon Music, and play something calming. I’ve gotten attached to the soundtrack of the recent movie A Hidden Life, and the music plays through my Bose speaker that sits on top of the fireplace.

Every other night I run a bath and put in a splash of Amway’s LOC liquid so I’ll have bubbles; sometimes my skin is dry and I don’t run a bath. While the super deep tub is filling, I grab the basin of my CPAP machine that has been air drying from its wash that morning, fill it half way with distilled water that I keep in my closet, and slide it in the machine on my nightstand and set it to warm. If I could skip living with a CPAP I would do so happily, but right after Michael died in 2015 I began having severe episodes of not breathing at night, and since then I’ve never gone a night without it. The feeling of going without any oxygen for a whole minute and waking up gasping desperately, heart pounding and limbs tingling, is not something pleasant, nor is it beneficial for my various internal organs. Why my brain forgot how to breathe at night after Michael died is a mystery. I told Lloyd I have brain damage and I absolutely meant it.

Then I brush my teeth. I take my time, sometimes using my Sonicare for the two minutes it’s set for, sometimes my ultra-soft regular toothbrush. After having Invisalign braces a few years ago, I began flossing my teeth a minimum of two times a day and I’ve never looked back. Then I take a very clean white washcloth that has been washed in the sanitize setting in my front loader machine, and clean off my tongue with warm water. Does that sound weird? I thought so too, until I read about how a certain former Bachelorette regularly uses a tongue scraper every day. She admitted it was weird but said “You’ve got to try it and you’ll see why.” Well, I wasn’t going to go out and buy a tongue scraper, but I thought clean white washcloths might do the trick, and she was right. Sounds strange, but wow. It’s a part of my night time routine now. What do you do to get ready for bed, Julie? Oh, I fill my CPAP basin and scrape my tongue. Wait…where are you going? Come baaack!

I use some mouthwash, wash my face if I’m not taking a bath, put a little Vitamin C serum on my skin and then a dab of moisturizer. I put on a plaid flannel nightgown, one of a few I have that are so warm and soft. And SmartWool socks on my feet if it’s cold out.

I pile up a couple of pillows on my king-sized bed so I can read for a while while my music is still playing softly and the faux fire is looking so cheery. The last three books I read: Scarlet Feather by Maeve Binchy, I’ve Seen the End of You by W. Lee Warren, and Rhythms of Renewal by Rebekah Lyons. The last three audiobooks I’ve listened to at night are: Hallelujah Anyway and Small Victories by Anne Lamott, and Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman. The narrator on the last one was unbelievably good.

And here are a couple of photos of some kind of lantern flowers on my dining room table, taken years ago. For your visual enjoyment, having nothing to do with my night time rituals.

If Lloyd isn’t here (we both maintain our own houses, fifty miles apart, so we are together about half the time), he calls and we chat before we go to bed.

When it’s time to turn the light off and get ready to sleep, I turn the Bose speaker off, and the music. If sleep doesn’t seem imminent, I might listen to part of a podcast, but most of the time I don’t. I’ve read a lot about Dolly Parton’s America and didn’t think it would be up my alley, but I gave it a try and it’s pretty fascinating. I strap on a wrist brace to keep me from wrecking my left wrist. In sleep I bend my hand down as far as it will go, and the pain wakes me. Why would I do something like that when I’m supposed to be totally relaxed? Maybe that will go in the Question Box along with why has my brain forgotten to signal for regular breathing during sleep.

I also usually put on some kind of Burt’s Bees lip balm. And some Citrus-Mint Beeswax on my hands from a brown little waxy disk. Sometimes I think it smells like Citrus and Mint and other times I think it smells like Urine and Mint. I’m pretty sure the company wouldn’t do that, but the Citrus part is a little, uh, strong. Then I put a little dab of lanolin on one part of a nostril, where the nasal pillow mask sits on my crooked nose. By the time I wake in the morning, that spot is red and sore, and I entertain thoughts of using a full-face mask, which doesn’t hurt my nose but squashes my face pretty powerfully. All so a woman can breathe.

When I finally put all reading material down, turn off the music or podcasts, have my brace on and my CPAP on, I turn on my side and rest my bent right knee on a pillow. It’s the residue of a total knee replacement surgery I had in 2013. Just a little torque or twist and it’s a deep ache. Although walking is great.

Then, I pray. I pray for each daughter, step-daughter, grandchild, son-in-law, friend, and many others. I have probably prayed for you if you’re reading this. I often pray The Jesus Prayer, which is something I would never have done years ago, but I need His mercy, everyone I love needs His mercy, and if He were right in front of me now I would plead for mercy from my Jesus. I sometimes pray an Examen prayer. Sometimes I cry-pray. Actually, I cry-pray a lot.

Fortunately I don’t often have trouble falling asleep. I would guess I’m out within five minutes. I might wake up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. and have some trouble falling back to sleep but dropping off around 9:30 or 10:00 at night is never an issue.

This all takes less than 20 minutes or so (unless it’s bath night).

What are some of your night time routines? Which ones do you wish you could do without? Which ones bring you the most comfort?